Getting to Happy (26 page)

“No, Mom. I’m just a little freaked out because it happened so fast. I can’t believe I did this. I’m in major trouble, I know.”

“Shit happens, Sparrow.”

“But can’t I lose my license since I just got it?”

“I don’t think so. Plus, this was my fault, not yours.”

“It is not your fault. Aren’t you pissed?”

“Not right now. Let’s just go downstairs and see.”

I finish drying my face, tighten the sash on my robe and follow behind her as she slowly leads the way. The dogs try to sneak out but I make them stay inside. When we get in front of the garage, I don’t know why but I cover my mouth with my hands and actually start laughing. First of all, there’s a huge hole in the wall and particles of drywall are splattered all over the top of the car. The hood, which is really the trunk, is wrinkled like navy blue cellophane. I’m standing here trying to picture Sparrow driving through a wall when she’s supposed to be going backward. Of course this isn’t funny but I start laughing and can’t stop.

“Mom, what’s so funny?”

I shake my head. “I’m just trying to figure out how in the world you passed that driving test.”

Her little Honda hybrid is just shining away on the other side of the garage. “I need to borrow your car today,” I say, knowing my insurance will cover a rental. I don’t feel like going through the paperwork this morning.

“You can have it,” she says. “Here, please take the keys.”

And I do. “I can drop you off at school. . .”

“Mom, can I please stay home today, please? Today is a half day and I’ve already missed first period. I can’t believe what just happened here. I mean, I just barely got my license and I’ve already had my very first accident and I ran into a stupid wall and I have like totally ruined your car, not mine. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, baby. This is why God created insurance,” I say, letting her off the hook again.

She walks over and hugs me. Neighbors drive by slowly doing double takes. I wave, forgetting I’m still in my bathrobe and my hair is piled on top of my head like Marge Simpson’s. After we close the garage door, Sparrow runs into the house and I feel the first ten or twenty raindrops begin to fall. I turn my face toward the sky for a few seconds and then rush inside just as the exterminator pulls up.

Because I always go to the drive-up window at Starbucks, it feels weird to actually pull into a parking space. I do not like driving a hybrid. Something is missing in this car. First of all, you can’t even tell it’s running. It feels like a big toy, but it got me here. With the rain coming down like crazy I thought I might hydroplane. It appears to be slacking up. Of course I called my insurance guy, since I know him personally because we went to U of A together years ago. He told me not to worry about anything. He suggested that the next time I drove without shoes and with wet toenails to just be careful. Since my homeowner’s policy is also with him, he’d call someone to patch up the hole in the garage wall.

I canceled my dentist appointment and was shocked shitless when the usually bitchy receptionist told me that under the circumstances they’d waive the cancellation fee. She said she hoped my daughter wasn’t too shaken up. Joseph wasn’t pissed after I told him what had happened. He suggested I squirt some Sea Breeze on my scalp, put a little gel on my edges, pull my hair into a tight ponytail and call it a day. When I looked closer, my nails were still shiny. My heels weren’t crusty and the peach polish not even close to chipping. All told, if this was a test, I think I could still pass it.

It’s ten to six. I’m not interested in trying to be fashionably late just so that Dark Angel will have to wait for me. What’s it prove? I’m also not worried about appearing too anxious if I beat him here. Thank God the rain is letting up. I pray Dark Angel doesn’t have any problems getting here and that I don’t have any getting home.

I check myself out in the mirror one more time, then get out of the car and run my hands down my hips to make sure everything is smooth. I have to be honest, I do love attention. Who doesn’t? I have a reputation for going a little overboard to get it. I’ve also got three black Golden Girls who remind me when I do. I’m working on dressing less flamboyantly. I’m getting too old for it. Besides, I’ve finally realized other women aren’t my competitors. Even before Bernie opened her big mouth, I had already chosen a pair of New Religion jeans that fit me to a T and topped it off with a white T-shirt that has a few simple rhinestones in the shape of a question mark on the front. I also decided on a pair of flats just in case Dark Angel isn’t as tall as he said he was. Some guys are known to exaggerate.

When I walk in, it’s crowded. I have never been inside this Starbucks now that I think about it. But then again, they’re all the same. I’m trying to act poised and nonchalant as I slowly peruse every table that’s not empty. There are only three black people in here. I don’t see a black man who looks anything like Dark Angel. It’s five after six. I check to make sure my throwaway cell phone is in my purse. It is. So is my real one. I buy a bottle of Ethos water and sit at a table by a window. Rain or not, that red sun is still out there.

“You’re looking good, girl.”

I’d know that rusty voice anywhere. Even after all these years. When I look up, sure enough, it’s Russell, Sparrow’s long-lost father. He looks old enough to be
my
father. Now it looks as if two convicts have been sprung, but this one doesn’t look like he’s been playing any golf. “Russell! What are you doing here?”

“Needed a Frapuccino. What about you? You drinking alone? Can I sit?”

“No!” I say a tad too loud. “I mean, no, I’m not drinking alone. I’m waiting for someone. I’m a few minutes early.”

“Take it easy. I’m not going to bite you.”

“You’re the last person I was expecting to see. When did you get out?”

“Why?” He has a smirk on his face like he’s flirting.

“I thought you had more time left.”

“Got out a little earlier. Good behavior. Not going back. I’m in a program. Getting my life on track for real. Tired of living behind bars. How’s my daughter?”

I cut my eyes at him. “She’s fine.”

“I want to see her as soon as I get myself together.”

“That looks like it might be a while,” I say too soon. I’m watching the door. It’s now pouring down again. “Anyway, it was nice seeing you, Russell.”

“Nice seeing you, too, Tiger Lady.”

“What did you just call me?”

He smiles. It’s wicked and sinister.

I’m trying to figure out how in the world this bastard knows my screen name. “What do you know about any Tiger Lady, Russell?”

“I’d say it was you,” he says, sipping the foam off the top of his drink and peering at me with those big black eyes.

“And who might you be?”

“I’m Rough-n-Ready, baby. It’s so nice to finally meet you in person.”

I almost don’t know what to say. I remember getting an icebreaker from a Rough-n-Ready a couple of months ago but I don’t think he ever attached his photo. Now I know why. “This isn’t cute, Russell. You’re too old to be playing these kinds of games.”

“It was all in good fun. I like your picture. You’re still looking watermelon sweet. Seriously though. My being in here. Purely coincidental.”

“Well, don’t let me stop you from leaving. I’m waiting for someone and I certainly don’t want him to have to meet you.”

He looks at his cheap watch. “What time is he supposed to be here?”

“None of your business.”

He then acts like he wants to bend down to give me a kiss. I push myself deeper into a corner like he’s about to electrocute me.

“It’s like that then, huh? Well, maybe I’ll see you around or give you another wink, Tiger Lady.”

He has the nerve to wink at me. And off he goes. I wait until I think he’s in the parking lot before looking out the window. I see him run through the rain and get in his ugly car that’s some color and make I don’t recognize. I sit here for ten more minutes. My real phone rings.

“I thought I’d give you guys a five-minute window. So is everything cool?” Savannah asks.

“He’s not here yet.”

“Has he called or anything?”

“Nope. Not yet.”

“He’ll be there. It’s pouring, as you no doubt can see.”

“Girl, you will never in a million years guess who I just ran into.”

“Russell.”

“How’d you guess?”

“It’s always the ex. You should know that by now, Robin.”

“Anyway, he’s still a poor excuse for a man, but let me go in case Dark Angel walks in.”

“Have fun,” she says.

I order a non-fat mocha Frappucino with no whip and sip on it for the next fifteen minutes until Bernie calls.

“Is it an emergency or not?”

“He hasn’t shown up.”

“Not even a phone call?”

“Not yet.”

“Then I’d leave. Get up right now and get the hell out of there.”

“It’s raining too hard.”

“Well, as soon as it lets up some, get your ass in that Porsche and beeline it home and delete this bastard from whatever you call that wish list.”

“Whatever.” I felt like saying, “I’m driving a black Honda Civic hybrid,” which sounds like it would’ve rolled right off my tongue. I sit for another five or ten minutes, then chuck the empty Ethos bottle into the receptacle and walk out into the downpour. Some men really try too hard to ruin your life. And none of this bullshit is worth the price of admission.

Things Couldn’t Be Better

Bernadine is on her way to meet John at a stable where Taylor takes riding lessons and boards her horse. He bought her a new saddle and wants to surprise her since her grades were so good, considering the circumstances. She is, after all, headed for high school in September and he hopes this saddle will serve as an incentive for her to continue doing well. Yesterday, he sent Bernadine a text message and said he wanted to talk to her about Taylor and a few other things. Would she mind meeting him out here? Bernadine didn’t have any other plans. The forecast called for a dry afternoon, and she loves the drive.

She turns the volume up on the radio when she hears Macy Gray singing “Get Up and Do Something.” She couldn’t agree more. Three days ago Bernadine decided the only pill she was going to take was the antidepressant. She wanted to see how long she could go before feeling any withdrawal symptoms. The longest she’s gone without Xanax is two days. She normally took one in a twenty-four-hour period—two, tops, and the lowest dose. The only time she has trouble falling asleep is when she’s got a lot on her mind. Usually money issues.

She’s through playing this game of hide-’n’-go-seek with herself and from herself. She does not feel any better. The past is still the past. Now her friends are able to tell when she’s on something. It didn’t used to be this way. They’ve lost patience with her. They’re tired of feeling sorry for her, tired of her drone. She doesn’t blame them one bit.

It would be so much easier if she could just stop hating James, but she can’t. If she could forget all that happened, but she can’t. She doesn’t know where to put the past. And the lingering pain. Doesn’t know what to do with either one. Whatever it takes to free herself, she’s willing to do it. After their marriage was annulled she had no reason to be in touch with him but she called him, hoping he would at least apologize for what he’d done. She just wanted to hear him say “I’m sorry.” She didn’t care if he didn’t mean it. But his cell phone was disconnected. She wrote him a nasty letter thinking it would make her feel better. It didn’t. It came back undeliverable. She has never heard from James since.

Her cell phone starts vibrating, moves across the seat and falls on the floor. Bernadine can’t reach it so she pulls off the two-lane road onto the gravel shoulder. She puts on her flashers. When she reaches to pick up the phone it feels like something is suddenly spinning inside her head. Shit. She takes a deep breath, exhales quickly. It’s John Jr. She presses TALK. “Hi, baby! This is quite a nice surprise. Why are you calling me in the middle of the day? What’s going on?”

“I’ve got some very good news, Mom.”

“I love good news,” Bernadine says and turns the radio down. She pulls back onto the road. Within minutes, she sees people riding on some of the trails.

“I’m going to be a father.”

“You’re going to be a what?”

“A dad. And Bronwyn and I are getting married.”

“Married? When?”

“In three weeks.”

“Three . . . wha—” Bernadine is speechless. She knows Bronwyn has been in the picture since last year and John Jr. is crazy about her, but he’d been crazy about fifteen other girls, too, so Bernadine thought she’d just been added to the list. But maybe one finally stuck. Even still, a baby? You don’t just call your mother on the phone without any advance notice and say, guess what, I’m going to be a father and somebody’s husband. Didn’t he just leave for college a few weeks ago?

“Anyway, we’re coming home for the nuptials. I’m going to put my thesis on hold. Bronwyn’s going to keep working on her dissertation. Don’t ask, Mom. I’ll let you know all the details when we get there. Aren’t you happy for me? Don’t you think this is outstanding news?”